


Support

by Writing-Classic-Rock (writingfanfic)



Category: The Monkees, The Monkees (TV)
Genre: Gen, Mo' problems, No Money
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 01:42:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 969
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13156497
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writingfanfic/pseuds/Writing-Classic-Rock
Summary: For the prompt: 'Can I request a Monkee one shot where the reader goes to get food or something and finds out that there is only 5$ in their account to last them until the New Year?'I relate to this, as I have 65p in the whole world.





	Support

“…one of those days,” you laugh, and the cashier smiles at her. “Anyway, let me just get that…”

“That’s $3.66, and thank you.” You dig through your purse.

“Uh, do you take card?” you ask, apologetically. There’s no moths to come flying dramatically out; they’d have starved to death in there. The woman smiles – that’s a welcome surprise, most places don’t take card yet – and takes the card.

Your smile fades as she looks confused.

“I’m sorry, ma’am, your card’s been declined.”

You’re aware that there’s somebody behind you; you swallow nervously. You need this food – you’re not exactly stocked up after Christmas, and you shake your head.

“Uh… try it again?”

“I’m sorry, ma’am, but we’d need your husband’s signature.”  _You don’t have a husband_. You grind your teeth for a moment. Your father had had to sign for this bank account, and you certainly don’t want him to know that you’re struggling right now.

“It’s fine. Thank you.” You go to grab the basket, and a hand lands on your arm.

“I’ll pay, it’s fine.”

You jump out of your skin, and spin around.

“Mike?!”

“Hey, (Y/N).” Mike hands his card over, and you feel shame and humiliation hit as you realise he must have heard everything.

“No, Mike, I’ll just put it back… what are you doing here…?”

“You live a couple’a blocks from me. Phyllis is at her mom’s, and I gotta eat.” He looks at you, and you flush, staring down at your feet. “Are you okay?”

“I’m  _fine_. I just… I can’t afford it, I’ll put it back-”

“Damn, (Y/N), Phyllis ain’t gonna care. You’re not exactly buyin’ a new car…” The cashier hands his car back, and you begin to pack everything into your bag, still staring at your own feet. “Are you  _okay_ …?”

“I’m  _fine_. Thank you,” you say, trying to sound grateful through the burning shame. You don’t even have enough for  _food_? You… you thought it was better than that. You walk past him, and march outside to the bus stop. Thank god you have your bus pass, you think, cheeks aflame.

“Wait up…!”

You turn, and Mike is sprinting after you.

“Jesus, (Y/N), I bought your damn shop, you at least owe me an explanation. If you’re short on cash, it happened to us all, goddamnit…” You shake your head. “Oh, for the love of Susan, okay. Get in the car.” He grabs your arm, and you pull back. “Get in the damn car or I will carry you, and you will be the one causin’ a damn scene.”

You give in, following him to his car, and when you are in the front seat, he folds his arms.

“Now. What is the problem?”

“I lost my job,” you whisper, and he stares at you. “Just before Christmas. I have one more pay packet coming through with a pretty decent… you know… s-severance…” You snuffle. “But it’s not coming through until mid-January. I th-thought I had enough for f-f-food…” A tear runs down your cheek, and you grit your teeth.

Warm arms wrap around you, and you are pulled to Mike’s chest.

“Okay. Okay, well… we’re all here for you. I swear.” He pats your hair, and you snuffle quietly. “Goddamn. You’re our friend, damn it, why didn’t you tell us…?”

“I couldn’t. I didn’t even tell my dad.”

“You know me and Phyl will never see you wrong, you know that, don’t you?” He looks into your eyes sincerely, and you nod, cheeks pink once again. “And…”

“What’s going on here?!”

You jump apart, and Mike rolls his eyes as you turn around and see Davy and Micky looking in through the window, mugging in a way that would’ve been hilarious.

“We were on the way to your house, but… it’s kinda public here, isn’t it?” Micky teases, and then sees the tears on your face. He pulls open the back door of Mike’s car, ignoring Mike’s protestations, and Davy scrambles in over him to get in the other side. “What’s wrong, (Y/N)?”

“Everything alright, luv?” Davy adds, and you nod, before shaking your head. You relate the story to them – it feels almost good to let it out, like vomiting it all up after you drink too much. Micky scrambles between the seats, and hugs you tightly – you feel Davy trying to get an arm to you between the headrest and the seat as well, and you feel yourself relax a little.

“Hey, we earn a wage, we’ll help you out,” Micky says, and Mike nods, looking almost a little disgruntled that his good charity is now being lifted.

“Guys, I don’t… I just…” You really do need their help. That’s the worst of it – you can’t just say no and scrape by and hope. You will starve, never mind your rent…

“Don’t panic the poor thing,” Davy says, and you’re grateful sometimes that he’s perceptive. “Okay. We’ll sit down with you. We’ll help you work it out. Honest, luv, you’re our friend, we’ll help you out…”

“But you gotta promise to tell us if you need help,” Mike says, sternly. “You can’t keep this stuff to yourself, okay?” You nod, and look down at your feet once more. “You quit that! Normally can’t get you to shut the hell up…” You smile, and Micky ruffles your hair.

“So, first thing’s first… you gotta get that stuff back to your fridge,” he says, frankly, and you look down at the bag of shopping. Whoops. “Then… you’re gonna make us a cup of coffee, and we’ll talk this out.”

You are blessed, you are pretty sure of that – you click your seatbelt on, and Mike starts the car.

“I want a cup of tea.”

“Oh, okay, Davy, don’t be so goddamn British…”


End file.
